Page 53 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

“I do sympathize. I angered Jessiva last night. But in my case, I was speaking the truth, and I knew how she would respond.”

“So you angered her on purpose, which is worse.”

“Maybe.” I beat my wings to gain more altitude. “But she fucked me anyway.”

I soar away from Kyreagan. He follows, but he doesn’t ask me anything about my night with Jessiva. I sense that he is still struggling with whether or not he should mate with Serylla before the official season. He is someone who values tradition, plans, and routines. When things do not go as planned, he has difficulty adjusting to the new reality. I dislike such adjustments as well, but it’s even harder for him.

We fly from cave to cave and visit the enclosure in the valley, informing everyone of the Mordvorren’s approach. Kyreagan delivers the dreadful news and announces the preparations we must make, and I soften the blow with hope and guidance. To the males, we dictate the terms of their confinement—that no matter how powerful the mating frenzy might be, they must not force a coupling upon anyone, on pain of death.

We work well together, Kyreagan and I, though I feel the absence of our sister like a missing limb. She would have strategized better than either of us and faced the storm’s approach with a bright vigor that neither Kyreagan nor I can muster.

I miss Grimmaw more fiercely in this moment, too. As the Bone-King’s mother, she was the wisest and most powerful ofour elders. Kyreagan and I have other elders with whom we can consult, but there are none quite like Grimmaw.

Fortunix’s battle experience and cunning nearly equaled my grandmother’s, but for some reason he is nowhere to be found. Kyreagan doesn’t seem interested in finding him, so I let it pass, though the Elder’s absence strikes me as odd. Fortunix’s behavior has unsettled me lately, though I cannot pinpoint any specific reason why.

During the morning, I volunteer to supervise the women so the other dragons can hunt. Once, while circling above a clearing where the women are gathering mushrooms, I spot a deer among the trees. But Runaris approaches at the same moment. I know he is a weaker hunter, so I let him take the prey.

Later on, I rouse Jessiva, tell her about the storm, and carry her down to the valley so she can wash up and assist the other captives. During our flight, she says very little to me, except to mutter, “I suppose you’re happy. This means you can’t take me home for a while.”

“Nothing about this storm makes me happy,” I tell her. “Have you considered what it will mean for everyone—dragons and humans trapped in caves together during the mating frenzy?”

“Oh god,” she says faintly.

“Indeed.”

I drop her off at the cavern without further comment and leave to hunt what I can before the meeting in Conch Valley. But most of the mountain goats have taken shelter, the rabbits are in their holes, and the deer have slunk deep into the forests where I cannot go.

At last, I manage to pounce on a fat wild pig who is snuffling among tree roots, munching on half-rotten nuts. I should be glad that his gluttony made him slower to take shelter, glad that Ifoundsomethingto feed myself and Jessiva during the storm. But I can’t shake the fear that it isn’t enough.

I barely have time to prepare the creature and hang it up in my cave before I must go to Conch Valley to join the others. I will have to wait until after the meeting to fetch Jessiva’s share of the foraged goods and transport it to my cave.

Perhaps I should have claimed the deer that I saw, after all. My act of mercy toward Runaris may bring starvation upon Jessiva and myself if the storm lasts too long.

The other dragons have already brought the women into Conch Valley by the time I arrive. In the center of the valley is a jutting slab of rock. When a dragon stands upon that rock, even their quietest words can be heard by everyone gathered here.

The women are clustered in front of the stone slab, while the dragons pace and prowl around them. Our prisoners are chattering in tones of mingled worry and excitement. They know what’s about to happen, and while they may not be able to fully understand the mating frenzy, the idea of it has unnerved them… rightfully so.

As I land on the valley floor near the group of women, several of them turn to look at me. There’s admiration and calculation in their eyes, as if they’re sizing me up, considering whether or not I would be the best dragon with whom to shelter.

Until this moment, I had taken it for granted that Jessiva and I would share a cave, alone. But with the eyes of the other women fixed on me, I feel suddenly fragile and uncertain. The void inside me expands, searing the edges of my heart. A dull ache begins in my chest.

I don’t want to be chosen by anyone except Jessiva.

Lifting my head high, I catch her scent and spy the flamelike hue of her hair, but before I can make my way to her, Jaerix intercepts me, accompanied by two other dragons. They areall young males of twenty-five, born in the same season as Kyreagan and I.

“We would like to perform the mating dance,” Jaerix says.

“It’s something all males practice from the time they can fly,” adds one of his companions. “We’ve been looking forward to dancing for our mates since we were hatchlings. So much of what we loved has been stolen. Why should this joy be taken from us?”

I hesitate, glancing upward at the sky, which is darkening rapidly. We don’t have long before the storm arrives. Usually the mating dances would take place one by one, over many hours, but time is too short for that. The rational part of me wants to deny the request outright.

And yet… dance is something Jessiva values. She loves rhythm and motion, the music of bodies. If she doubts whether or not I am the right companion for her, perhaps I can convince her through the language of her soul.

“We will have to perform the dance quickly,” I say. “Not one by one, but in groups.”

“Yes, yes, agreed,” reply the other males.

“I will speak to Kyreagan about it when he arrives,” I tell them.

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